


give me your praise

by mixtapestar



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: A rides B's thigh to orgasm, Alternate Universe - No Beast (The Magicians), Getting Together, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Praise Kink, Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-28
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-13 19:07:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28908327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mixtapestar/pseuds/mixtapestar
Summary: Eliot discovers a notable pattern of behavior in his favorite first year.
Relationships: Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh
Comments: 30
Kudos: 157
Collections: Bulletproof 20/21





	give me your praise

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sombregods](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sombregods/gifts).



> For anyone visiting from Bulletproof who doesn't know the fandom, welcome! This fic is a Season 1 AU, so all you really need to know is that they're in magical grad school. ;)
> 
> This is Quentin:  
> 
> 
> And this is Eliot:  
> 

Eliot stumbles into the knowledge by accident.

It all starts when he asks Quentin to help him with a baking endeavor—he tells Quentin he needs a second set of hands, but mainly he's looking for any excuse to hang out with his new nerdling friend who may or may not be queer—jury's still out.

Quentin, as it turns out, is freshly out of a 2-week fling with one Miss Alice Quinn. Eliot hums appropriately as he creams the butter and sugars together for his cookie recipe, pretending this is all brand new information. As if Margo hadn't told him the moment Alice left the library where she had quietly broken things off. Eliot has long run in circles where news travels fast, but none so lightning-quick as Brakebills.

"Sounds like you're taking it well enough," Eliot observes. "Let me know if that's gonna change—tears in the dough would ruin this recipe."

Quentin shrugs. "I'm okay. I thought we were having fun together, but I guess in retrospect that's all it was. I have fun with lots of people. I'm having fun with you right now."

"Mm, yes. I do love to _have fun_ ," Eliot says, peeking over at Quentin's bowl. "Have you finished mixing the dry ingredients?"

Quentin tilts the bowl his direction. "I think so."

"Oh yes, that looks perfect. Go ahead and wash your hands, I'll have you rolling out dough in a few." Quentin ducks his head as he goes to the sink, his hair hiding his face. Eliot frowns but doesn't comment on it. "Well, you're a free agent now. You can really enjoy the Cottage parties. Anyone you have your eye on?"

Quentin fidgets with the towel as he dries off his hands. "I dunno, I guess I kinda want to focus on classes? Like I'm still available or whatever, but there's _so much_ to learn about magic. Did you know that there are principles in place to safely build your own spells? Professor Sunderland says it'll be a while before we know enough to get that far, but I mean, imagine if you could just come up with your own spell for like, styling your hair each morning."

Eliot makes a show of shuddering at the thought. "As if I'd let magic try to interfere with perfection," he quips, touching his fingers to the curl on his forehead. "But there are definitely other areas of meta-comp I'm interested in. Sunderland is right, though. You don't want to go messing with any of that before you're ready. This is one area where your enthusiasm won't do you any good." He finishes mixing everything together and sets the bowl on the counter. "Now, why don't you get started rolling these out in 1-inch balls on the baking sheet?"

Quentin goes on about his ideas for new spells for a while, and Eliot lets the words wash over him while he gives his wrists a break from mixing. He gets distracted listening for a while before he finally thinks to check Quentin's progress laying out the cookies.

"Oh, those look perfect, Q," he says, reaching his hand up to the back of Quentin's neck and squeezing lightly. "You're a natural. Todd tried to help me with the last batch; you don't wanna _know_ how long it took me to fix his mess."

Quentin goes oddly silent, rolling the dough between his palms. Eliot steps up next to him and sees Quentin's fixed expression, the blush spreading out over his cheeks. _Interesting_.

"Of course, some people just don't know how to use their hands. Not you, though."

Quentin clears his throat loudly, turning away from Eliot and pulling the bowl up against his chest. "Well, at least this is one thing I'm good at," he says, and Eliot recognizes the deflection for what it is. He moves on, but he logs the recording of Quentin blushing so prettily in the back of his mind, waiting until he can replay it, analyze it, and pull out what he's learned at the right moment.

***

Quentin has lived in the Physical Kids' Cottage less than a day, and already he's ruining their image by scattering books and notes all over one of the couches, running his hand through his hair every five seconds as he shuffles papers around.

Eliot finally decides to interfere. "Q. You're going to start pulling hair out soon, and that would be a tragedy. How can I help?"

Quentin sighs. "Professor Van der Weghe wants us to have the spell for manipulation of metal down by tomorrow's class, but I can't figure it out. These diagrams don't make _sense_."

Eliot moves closer to see the diagrams in question. "Ah, I remember this one. What you want is Poppers 15, 27, and a reverse 39," he says, holding his hands out in front of him until he's sure he's got Quentin's attention, then going through the motions with a focus on one of Quentin's ball bearings. It flattens out into a 2D circle just as Eliot planned.

"Oh god, it's a _reverse_ 39? Why doesn't it just _say_ that, fuck." He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes, and then opens them to move through the Poppers. His movements are a bit rigid, revealing how new he still is to all this, but he gets them right, and the ball morphs into a spiral, as Quentin must have envisioned.

"Wow, I'm impressed," Eliot says, grinning. "It took me forever to get the wrist movement down for 39's reversal, but you got it on the first try."

"Yeah?" Quentin asks, looking eager and squirming on the couch. Eliot takes note of the color high on his cheeks.

"Yeah. Do it again for me?"

Quentin bites his lip, but he doesn't need the deep breath this time. His movements seem more relaxed, and he reshapes the ball bearing to stretch it into a ring.

"Mm, that's it. Good boy," Eliot says, and Quentin coughs suddenly. Eliot pats him on the shoulder, storing this image of Quentin with pink filling his cheeks for later. "I'll leave you to it."

***

They have a party at the Cottage that weekend, and after some coercion from both Eliot and Margo, Quentin agrees to attend. In celebration of this, and because Eliot has a cocktail recipe he wants to try, Eliot mixes him a gin drink with his new chamomile bitters, agonizing over the proportions until he's sure he's got it right.

The party is ramping up fast, and it takes a minute for Eliot to locate Quentin. He doesn't expect to find him in a liplock with some frumpy-looking herbalist dude, but there are worse ways to find out for sure that Quentin is capital-Q Queer. It's fitting, really.

"Eliot," Quentin says with no small surprise, breaking the kiss audibly as he notices Eliot looming.

"I made you a drink," Eliot says brightly, handing it over.

"Thank you," Quentin says, accepting it with a small smile. "This is Nate. We have PA together."

Eliot doesn't tell Nate to move along. He just shoots him a big, false smile as he makes steady eye contact while pondering all the ways he could destroy Nate's life. Nate mumbles something about needing to find Josh and makes a hasty retreat.

Quentin frowns after him. "I sorta thought he might ask me out."

Eliot waves a hand. "If he's worth anything, he'll be back. You certainly seemed like you knew what you were doing."

"Oh! Uh—thanks?"

"No problem," Eliot says, sipping his drink.

Quentin follows his lead, taking a hefty sip of his own drink. "Mm. This is really fucking good, El. What are you drinking?"

"My own twist on an Old Fashioned." Eliot crowds in close, leaning forward until Quentin's eyes fall to his lips. "Wanna taste?"

Quentin licks his lips, then leaves his mouth hanging slightly open. "I uh—yeah?"

Eliot hovers at least three seconds longer than necessary before bringing his glass up between them.

"Oh, right," Quentin says, seeming disappointed. Eliot fights a smile as he takes a sip. "Mm, that's good too. You're really good at—"

Eliot doesn't let him get any further, even if he does appreciate the compliment. He presses his lips against Quentin's, fulfilling the promise he'd unspokenly made when he crowded up against Quentin. Quentin stays tense for mere seconds before absolutely _melting_ against Eliot.

Eliot takes the two drinks back from him, floating them away telekinetically to the window ledge nearby. Quentin doesn't waste any time, using his now-free hands to grip at Eliot's tie and his vest, hauling him further down and deepening the kiss, lips moving against Eliot like he wants to devour him.

By the time they break apart, they're both breathing heavily. "I know you and Margo put a lot of effort into making sure I came down for this party, but I think maybe I'm gonna head back upstairs, if that's alright."

Eliot raises his eyebrows. "Y'know, I think I might allow it this one time, if you're up for company."

Quentin nods eagerly, grabbing his hand before heading toward the stairs. Eliot shoots Margo a wink before he gets pulled up the stairs and into Quentin's room.

"Now I know why you scared Nate away," Quentin says as he pulls Eliot down on top of him on the bed.

"Oh, would you rather your herbalist were here instead of me?" Eliot says, already knowing the answer as he brackets his knees around Quentin's hips.

Quentin rolls his eyes and pulls on Eliot's tie again. Eliot doesn't resist; he's happy to keep kissing Quentin for as long as Quentin likes. But before long the pull on his tie gets uncomfortable, so he sits up, wrapping his hand around Quentin's wrist, then reaching for the other, pulling them both up above Quentin's head before he moves back in for an even filthier kiss. Quentin moans and rocks up against him, not even fighting his hold. Eliot lets go of his wrists and continues licking his way inside Quentin's mouth. By the time he pulls back to catch his breath, Quentin's arms are still held in place above his head. "Oh, I am _keeping_ you," Eliot says, and Quentin's eyes go wide.

And so begins Eliot's relationship with Quentin Coldwater.

***

It's been three weeks of dating, kissing, sex—a _lot_ of sex—when Eliot decides to really apply his knowledge of what turns Quentin on. He invites Quentin up to his room on a rare Saturday that he's not planning a party, so they really have the whole day to themselves. They make out lazily for a while, Quentin working the buttons of Eliot's shirt open so he can slide his fingers through Eliot's chest hair, Eliot dipping his fingers below Quentin's waistband in a tease he doesn't intend to take further just yet.

Eliot pushes gently against Quentin's shoulder once his plan takes shape in his head. Quentin pulls out of the kiss and rests his weight over Eliot's thigh, his knees bracketing either side. Eliot can see the outline of his cock, already hard, through his jeans.

"I have a theory," Eliot says. "I'd like to test it out, if you're interested."

Quentin raises his eyebrows. "What's the theory?"

Eliot quirks his lips into a smile. He rubs his hands over Quentin's thighs and asks, "Humor me. Would you say you're pretty comfortable, like that?"

"Pretty comfortable," he says, canting his hips slightly so that his cock rubs against Eliot's thigh.

Eliot smiles. "Do you think you could stay in that position for a while?"

Quentin's eyes go distant as he considers it. Eliot loves that even with so little information to go on, Quentin is taking him seriously. "Like, not move at all?"

"Hmm," Eliot says, reaching for his hands and bringing them back to their previous position on Eliot's chest. "Let's say, you'd keep your hands and knees where they are now."

Quentin's fingers curl slightly into his chest hair, but otherwise remain in place. "Mm, yeah. I could do that."

Eliot leans forward to kiss him. "I knew you'd say yes. You're always so good to me."

Quentin moans and rocks forward a little. Eliot suppresses a grin. His theory is definitely holding up so far.

"You like hearing that, huh? I love seeing you all worked up. You get so excited about things. Like magic, something I've been used to for so long it's almost commonplace; you talk about it like it's _important_. You make it _feel_ important. And there's things I have no idea about, like your Fillory books. Damn, Q, I could watch you talk with your hands for hours."

Quentin's fingers slide against his chest, and he whimpers. "Eliot, what are you doing?"

"I'm talking about how much I like you. Is that okay?" He means it as a joke, but it comes out more seriously.

Quentin swallows, and then after a second, nods. Eliot reaches out to tuck his hair behind his ear. "Good boy."

" _Fuck_ , El," Quentin says, his head falling forward, hair covering his face as he works his hips a little, brushing his cock up against Eliot's thigh.

"Mm, you can move your hips, but I still wanna see your face," he says, resting his fingers under Quentin's chin, tipping his head back up. He pushes his leg up a little to punctuate his statement, giving Quentin a slightly better angle to rub up against him. Quentin obliges him, and Eliot smiles, rewarding him with another kiss.

"Do you know the first time I wanted you?" Eliot asks, resting back against his pillows. "When you walked across the Sea and into Brakebills for the first time. Fuck, you were so adorable with your ill-fitting suit and your dazed expression. Not unlike the one you have now," he says, staring at Quentin's parted lips and cloudy eyes. "I thought a lot about making you look this way in those first two months."

"You did? Really?" Quentin asks, grunting in frustration as he leans forward, trying to get some good friction against his cock despite the restrictiveness of his jeans. Still, he keeps his knees in place and his hands against Eliot's chest, even if they are pushing a little. Eliot will likely take pity on him eventually, but for now he's happy to watch him squirm.

"I really did. I thought about how I might ask you out, and what might happen next if you said yes. When you were with Alice and officially unavailable, you moved into 'strictly fantasy' territory, and then I really let loose."

"What— _ahh_ —what did you fantasize about?"

Eliot hums, taking his time with his answer as he unzips his own fly, revealing his lack of underwear as he pulls out his cock. Quentin watches as his grips himself, still playing at thinking it over. "Your mouth, to start with. Silly me, I thought you'd be shy about taking all of this, but you weren't, were you? You _aren't_." Quentin whines and continues rocking against him. Eliot releases his cock long enough to do the lube spell and come back with a slick palm. He tilts his head back and lets out a moan at that first smooth slide over his dick, letting the absolute turn-on of Quentin's needy thrusts against his thigh wash over him.

"I thought about a lot of things, honestly. How I'd fuck you. How you'd fuck me. Whether you'd be into rimming—that was a nice surprise, too."

" _Please_ , El," Quentin whines, knees pressed hard into the mattress as he works his hips. Eliot's thigh already feels a little bit chafed from Quentin rubbing against him in his jeans; Eliot can only imagine what Quentin's cock feels like.

"Look at you. Staying exactly in place, just like I told you to. You deserve a little something for that, huh? For being so good for me?"

Quentin inhales sharply as Eliot reaches for his fly, undoing the button and dragging down the zipper. Quentin sits up on his knees so that Eliot can push the jeans down further over his hips, but he leaves his briefs in place. As Quentin settles back on top of him, Eliot briefly skims his fingers over the outline of Quentin's cock. "Yeah, _please_ ," Quentin murmurs, but Eliot doesn't linger.

"Where was I?" he says, returning to stroking his own cock. He hasn't missed the wet spot of precome near the band of Quentin's briefs, or the way his cock twitched with need as Eliot moved away. Quentin works his hips, and Eliot can feel a big difference as Quentin's cock slides over his thigh with only the softer layers of fabric in between. "Ah, yes. The _sounds_ you make," he says, closing his eyes and savoring the little hitches in Quentin's breath as he fucks up against Eliot as best he can. "I always like to imagine my partners are enthusiastic, but if there were a competition, you'd certainly take the gold."

Even through his burgeoning desperation, Quentin manages a smirk. "Had lots of 'partners' recently?"

Eliot laughs, surprised. He squeezes his dick briefly at the base and then speeds up his strokes, taking in Quentin's proud look. "You got me. With the way you keep me busy, I barely have time to stay acquainted with this hand."

"Good," Quentin says, ducking his head again before he seems to remember that's against the rules and tosses his hair back out of his face.

"That's it," Eliot says encouragingly. "Let me see your beautiful face when you admit how you want me all to yourself." Quentin bites his lip before staring directly into Eliot's eyes, and the weight of his gaze nearly knocks the breath out of Eliot. " _Fuck_ , Q. You're so fucking sexy."

Quentin tips forward clumsily, their noses nearly colliding, but Eliot reaches out his free hand to steady him, and their lips meet in a hungry kiss. Eliot sucks Quentin's bottom lip into his mouth, sliding his tongue across it intently. Quentin always tastes good, the swell of his lips always perfect against Eliot's, but today he seems even more delectable than usual. When Quentin opens his mouth on a moan, Eliot shifts forward, an action that allows him a better angle to fuck his tongue into Quentin's mouth, and coincidentally also gives Quentin better leverage to really rut against Eliot.

Their moans mingle on their lips as Eliot gives in to the impulse to really stroke his cock, give in to that heady feeling he's been pushing away to give Quentin the attention he deserves. Now they let their kisses do the talking as they both move desperately against each other. Eliot knew he could make this good for Quentin, but he didn't expect to be so affected by Quentin's reactions.

"Fuck—El, I—I think I'm gonna come. Can I—?"

" _Yes_ , fuck yeah, Q, show me that you know how good you are. Come for me." Quentin cries out, pushing hard against Eliot's chest, but that only makes Eliot feel even better, that Quentin didn't even move his hands, because Eliot asked him not to. He's not sure if he can actually feel Quentin's come through his underwear, or he's just imagining it, but it's enough to drive him toward the edge as he strokes himself with abandon, grunting as he spills over his fist.

They fall into another kiss, Eliot licking through his mouth to capture that still delightful taste of Quentin when he's this far gone. Eliot brings a hand up to rest over Quentin's as he breaks the kiss. "You can move now, if you want. You were amazing."

"Sorry," Quentin says, skimming his fingers over the spots where the heels of his hands had rested. "You might have bruises later."

"Mm, I'm not complaining," Eliot says, letting his fingers slide over the same spots.

Quentin stretches his legs out over the bed, settling in next to Eliot's side. He rests a hand in the center of Eliot's chest, between where his hands had previously taken up residence. "So, are you gonna tell me what the theory was?"

Eliot does the tut to clean the two of them up, then reaches up a hand to lace their fingers together. "Oh, just that I could make you come from telling you how amazing you are."

Quentin splutters out a laugh. "That is _not_ what just happened."

"Isn't it?" Eliot asks, smirking down at him.

Quentin groans and tucks his head into Eliot's shoulder. "That makes me sound like such a narcissist."

"Not at all. You like to know when you do well, when you're wanted. Lucky for us I want you very much."

"Fuck, it is lucky." He tilts his head back up to look at Eliot. " _I'm_ lucky."

"We're both lucky," Eliot corrects, squeezing his hand. His next thought rises to his lips, and for a moment, he thinks of swallowing it back down. But in thinking over the last three weeks, the last _hour_ , he thinks it might be okay to say it. "You _can_ have me, you know. All to yourself."

"Good," Quentin says, echoing his previous response. A warm feeling spreads through Eliot's chest as Quentin kisses the underside of his jaw, and for now at least, he thinks he understands some of what Quentin feels when he praises him.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are appreciated! <3


End file.
